Sweet Dreams
by LordsBecca
Summary: Ginny is experiencing something a tad strange. Something that keeps her up at night, and her heart pounding with fear. But when someone calls for her help, will she be too afraid to help? Or will she find the strength inside her to fight the terror...? Ro
1. Default Chapter

TITLE: Sweet Dreams

TITLE: Sweet Dreams  
AUTHOR: Becca  
E-MAIL: [lordsbecca@yahoo.com][1]  
RATING: PG-13  
CATEGORY: ::thinks:: I'm not sure. I guess...angst, maybe...suspense? Horror? ::giggles:: HA! Can you imagine _me_ writing a horror story?! ::full moon comes out:: Ahh! No...no.... _NOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!  
_ARCHIVE: Sure, just drop me a line!  
  
SUMMARY: Ginny is experiencing a strange phenomenon....  
  
**DISCLAIMER: Roses are red, violets are blue, me no own, so you no sue! I only own some of the characters. The ones you haven't heard of, I own. ::hugs originals:: I love you guys!

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Prologue

She woke from the cold air that wrapped around her. The unpleasant feeling that she wasn't alone in the empty room caused her to seep further under the blankets, to where she couldn't see the horror that she knew was just around the corner.

She heard footsteps, and the rustle of someone trying to get under her covers. She opened her mouth, and tried with all her might to cry out to anyone who could hear, but her vocal cords had failed from fright. She could see the image of what was outside, and she could tell it was one of the worst that had ever come to visit her.

She kicked the bottom of the blankets, causing the figure to hesitate before going any further. She stuck a hand out of the blankets, grabbed a flashlight, and brought it back under. Turning the flashlight on, the figure quickly ran back out of the room.

One tear fell, followed by four more, and suddenly she was sobbing. She tried everything, but they wouldn't leave her alone. They came, every night, same time, wanting something that she knew she couldn't give them.

And yet, they always came back…

Chapter One

He watched as she walked down the stairs. Her hair was a mess, her eyes were puffy, and dark circles had formed under her eyes, making her look five years older then she was. It was the way she looked every morning, before she took a comb to her hair, and some foundation to her skin.

He tried asking her if she was sleeping well, and she would laugh and tell him she was fine. But he knew that she was covering something up. She hadn't been the same since _He_ had come back. Which was odd, because everyone expected for it to be him that woke up with puffy eyes and circles.

"Morning, Ginny," her brother Ron yawned to her, shoving some bacon into his wide mouth. 

Ginny didn't reply. She was staring at the empty seat next to Fred, the one that usually had George in it. 

"Ginny?" Harry asked, staring at the paling girl. She turned to him, her brown eyes wide, and then suddenly ran upstairs.

Harry turned to Ron. "I'm really worried."

Ron stared back at Harry. "She did just lose a brother, Harry. I mean, we're all still hurting since George—" he could go no further.

Harry stared at his plate full of eggs and bacon, then back at George's empty seat. It had been months, three at least, since they had lost George. He had been a victim of Voldemort, just like the hundreds of others that had died since his return…

"I know, Ron," Harry answered. "But everyone else seems to be fine."

"She's just hurting, Harry. Just leave her alone."

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She walked down the stairs, knowing she was a total mess. She knew Harry would stare at her, and she honestly didn't care. She didn't care about much, anymore. All she really and truly cared about, was trying to find a way to make all the horrible things go away.

She was thankful that no one knew what she was going through. She wanted help, but at the same time, didn't want anyone to go through what she felt every single night. The fear that inhibited her body was sickening. No one should have to go through what she put up with.

Everyone thought that her problems had to do with George. They had lost George to Him. George was 

walking home late one night from the joke shop, which was doing quite well, when....But though she did miss her brother, she cared more about the fright that visited her every night. 

She saw Harry give her that worried look, and she cursed at herself for not putting on some kind of makeup. But then she remembered: she didn't care.

"Morning, Ginny," her brother Ron yawned to her, shoving some bacon into his wide mouth. 

But she couldn't reply. The seat that was next to Fred usually held George, and nowadays, it was empty. But it wasn't empty. She knew that no one else could see, but she saw who was in the chair. She wanted to scream, she was _trying_ to scream. But her voice always left her when she needed it most.

"Ginny?" Harry asked, staring at the paling girl. She turned to him, her brown eyes wide, and then suddenly ran upstairs. She knew that he was worried about her, that in a few minutes he'd be coming to her room to see her, but she really didn't care.

None of them had seen what she saw. None of them knew that the empty chair _wasn't_ empty. None of them knew that this was the first time they had come out in groups. None of them knew who "they" were.

Only she did. She was the only one who knew true fear. Even young Harry, a boy who had been through so much in such a short time, didn't understand. And would never understand. 

She had wondered many times whether or not she should tell Dumbledore. She had always ended up deciding not to write to him. He wouldn't believe her. After all, who would believe a story like hers? It was ridiculous. It was inane. It was true.

"Ginny?"

She sighed. He had come up to see her too soon. She was hoping to write one journal entry before having to deal with him.

"Come in, Harry."

The boy walked into her room, and smiled at her as she picked up a brush and began to control her hair. "So...how are you?"

She knew this routine. He was going to act casual, as though there were nothing wrong, then ask her if anything was bothering her. She had this conversation with him at least every week. Maybe even as many as three times a week. She decided that she was just going to cut the fluff talk and tell him not to worry. She had to go through this on her own.

"Harry, I know why you're here. I know that you're worried about me." Her frown deepened when he nodded. She desperately wanted to tell him...but she wanted him to like her. Not laugh at her. "I'm all right, Harry. It's just seeing Geor—"

"Let me guess," Harry said, cutting her off. "It's just seeing George's empty chair brings back too many memories." He walked closer to her. "Ginny, that's what you tell me every time I come up here to talk to you." He sighed, grabbed her hand, and led he to the bed. "Ginny. Sit."

She listened to him, knowing that her excuse was just like all the others. She did use that excuse every time one of them occupied the chair. But what else was she to say? Telling the truth would just get her into a psychologist's couch. 

"Ginny. I'm worried."

She smiled at him, griping his hand harder. "I know, Harry. But there is nothing to be worried about. I'm fine." 

He looked at her hand. The sleeves from her night gown covered her arms, which he hadn't seen in so long. She would always wear short sleeves: she found them more comfortable. He knew this for a fact. But lately, she only wore long sleeves. Always covering up every part of her body.

He lifted her arm, and began to pull back the long, loose sleeves. She smacked his hand back, causing him to retreat, and let the sleeve go. 

"What was that for, Gin?" he asked, staring at the girl.

She hesitated. What would she tell him? If she saw what was on her arm.... "I'm cold."

He raised an eyebrow. "Lame excuse," he said sternly. "Lift the sleeve. Now."

She panicked, but knew she had no choice. She lifted the sleeve up, just the tiniest bit, but his hand took control and pushed it up all the way.

"Ginny!" he cried, jumping back at the arm.

She lowered her head. What else was she to do? She could always run...always grab her broom and never come back. But Harry knew too much all ready. 

He lightly touched one of the scratches, one which had become infected. She winced at the pain, and he stopped touching it immediately. 

"Virginia Grace Weasley, what is this from? Has someone been hurting you?" Harry demanded.

"N-No..." Ginny stammered. "Not exactly..."

Harry suddenly became angry. "What is that supposed to mean? Who did this to you? I want to know: I demand to know!"

Tears fell from Ginny's swollen eyes. "No one, Harry! It was no one!" She had to think of a quick lie. "I-I did this to myself. It's my fault."

Harry stared at her with wide eyes and an open mouth. "You did not." Harry knew she was distant, but she wasn't abusive. Or suicidal. "I want to know where these came from. And if you don't tell me, then you will tell Albus Dumbledore."

She gasped. She couldn't let Dumbledore see this—he'd want to know where it was from. And he would laugh, along with everyone else. Who would do this to her? Who could she lie about? Her father? No. Arthur was too kind to do this to her, and everyone knew it. Percy? No...Percy hadn't been home in a month. Ron? Ron was capable of doing it. Maybe out of anger because of how she felt about Harry. But would Harry buy that excuse? Probably not. 

Harry grabbed Ginny's hand. "Is this all over your body? Is this why you cover yourself up all the time?" 

She shook her head. "No!" But she forced too hard, and he raised the other sleeve. It was the same thing: thick, long scars and scratches covered her once beautiful, pale, freckled skin.

He gasped. His face became pale, and he dropped his hands from Ginny's arm and her hand. "Ginny..." he couldn't go any further.

"Harry, you can't tell anyone!" she pleaded with him.

He stood, and pulled her off the bed. "Turn around," he said to her face.

"What?"

He didn't ask her again. He just spun her to that her back was facing him. He lifted the back of her shirt, to find more and more scars covering her body. He back away from her, frightened by his findings.

She turned around and faced him. "You can't tell."

"I will tell," he answered, with a weak voice. "I must tell."

Her tears fell faster. "Please, Harry. Don't tell. Just...forget all about them. I'm not hurting. I'm not afraid, and you shouldn't be either. I'm all right. And I'll be okay as long as you don't tell anyone."

Harry stared at her brown eyes, eyes that were pleading with him to keep the secret. There was more then plead in the eyes, though. Harry saw much pain. Pain, and fear. Much fear. 

She suddenly fell to her knees and cried harder. He knelt beside her, recognizing this as a cry for help. 

"Ginny..." he pulled her close to him, rocking her gently. "Don't cry. Don't cry. I won't tell, Ginny. I won't tell anyone."

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Well? Whadda guys think? I need to know: should I keep wasting my time writing this? Do you _want_ more? Cuz if no one wants more, then ::snort:: I'll just give it up now! But if you _really_ want me to keep this up…lordsbecca@yahoo.com! Thankies!

   [1]: mailto:lordsbecca@yahoo.com



	2. Goodnight, Anna

He smiled to himself, adding another name to the list

Anna Whitmore pulled back her sheets, and turned her fan on to medium. She fluffed her pillows, and moved some stuffed animals onto the floor. She turned on the radio, making sure her mother wasn't able to hear it in the other room. 

She found her pajamas in the top drawer, and put them on the bed. Stripping off her plaid skirt and Ralph Lauren blouse, she mouthed the words to her favorite song. The pajamas she put on around her ten-year-old body, fit loosely.

Anna climbed into the bed, her weight manipulating the mattress so that it curved around her thin body. Using a remote, she turned off her radio, and leaning over to the side table, she turned off her light. 

Anna's breathing slowed, and became peaceful. Her body became heavier, and her body curled into a fetus position. After only a few minutes, the little girl fell into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

^*^*^

Amy Whitmore woke up, yawned, stretched, and kissed her still-sleeping husband's cheek. She got out of bed, though reluctantly, and shuffled to her daughter Anna's room. She knocked three times, and said, "Anna? Anna, time to get up sweetie."

She went downstairs, and turned on the television. She made sure it wasn't too loud: her daughter Madison had no reason to wake up too early. After finding out what the headlines were for the day, she went into the kitchen, and began making the traditional eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee; the coffee being for herself. 

The absence of the soft music coming from Anna's room made Amy stop. She listened for footsteps, and ended up muting the television. She realized that she never heard the shower turn on, or a groan from the little girl when she knocked on the door.

Frightened, she ran up the stairs, and burst into Anna's room. When the body in the bed gave no reaction to the open door, Amy ran to her husband. 

Amy could barley speak to Tom, who was too sleepy to even recall what his wife was trying to say. But when he heard, "Anna" and, "no reaction", he jumped out of bed and ran to his little girl's room.

He nudged his little girl's arm, and felt for a pulse. He then dialed the police.

Amy fell, crying hysterically.

^*^*^

He smiled to himself, adding another name to the list. _Annabel Whitmore_. He nodded to the person at his side, who walked away, trembling as he did so. He looked back at the list of names, knowing that the list was not complete. He had one more name to add…one more name to make his work all worth the effort.

He remembered that Lucius had wanted a copy of the list of names. For what, he did not know. He knew that he would have to find out what Lucius planned to do with it, before just handing it over. For all he knew, Lucius would give it to the fool Dumbledore….

"Master?"

His thoughts were interrupted by a young Death Eater. He couldn't place the man's name with the fresh, teenage face. With the bright, blue eyes that sparkled under the dim candle light and soft, blond hair that was cut short to show off his face, no one would ever look at him and think of him as along the side of Voldemort.

He hesitated, trying to remember the man's name. 

"Jacob," the man answered. "My name is Jacob, sir."

He frowned. "Yes. Yes, I knew that Jacob. What…what is it?"

"Sir," Jacob began, "Lucius Malfoy has sent me to retrieve the list of names. The 'Victims List', as he is calling it."

He nodded. "Yes, yes all right." He held out the long piece of parchment to the man. "Give this to Lucius. And tell him…tell him to come see me as soon as he is able."

Jacob nodded, and bowed. "Of course, sir." He took the long list, and bowed once more before turning on one heel, and walking away from the thin, gray man.

Jacob took a look at the long list. He felt strong by what he saw. More then seven hundred names, mostly under the age of thirty, all on the list of the victims. Victims of the twisted games Voldemort and his men played every day to regular people who didn't know that the end was coming.

It was Jacob's idea to kill the little Anna. He had seen her around, she was always curious about wizards and witches. She was even a little witch herself, though she had no idea. She was only She was a worthless Mudblood, and Jacob new he had to do something about her.

Jacob was only twenty years of age. He grew up learning about how evil all Muggles were, how awful and insignificant Mudbloods were. His parents were Death Eaters, and they were currently spending time in Azkaban. He never was able to visit them, but he didn't really mind. As long as he was with his master, he was happy.

He finally came to a door, which led to Lucius Malfoy's separate study. Because of Malfoy's perfect record of never failing a mission, their master had offered him a room in the cavern to work alone, and plan even better plots.

Jacob knocked on the mahogany door, and a rough, sore voice answered, "Yes?"

"Sir, I have the list," Jacob answered.

The door swung open, and a tired, sullen Lucius could be seen. "You got it?"

Jacob nodded. "Yes, sir."

A fowl sneer appeared on Lucius' face. He grabbed it from Jacob, and stared at it. "Perfect," he whispered, staring at the long parchment. "Did he ask why I wanted it?"

"No," Jacob answered. "But he did want to see you as soon as you were available."

Lucius cursed under his breath. He looked at Jacob, back down at the parchment, then sighed. "Thank you, Jacob. You may leave."


	3. Help

Nighttime

I'm Nighttime. Her nightmare's time to come alive. Her red sheets covered her shaking body. It was summer time, and she was always hiding under the covers. She was freezing, because the air always chilled before they came. Her mother often asked her if she should take the blankets off, but she always made sure that the blankets stayed on the bed. 

12:58. She had two minutes until hell was unleashed into her own bedroom. She wondered which one would come tonight. She wondered if it would be someone she had seen before, or a new one tonight. But what if they came in groups again? Like that morning? She panicked. 

12:59. One more minute. She grabbed a flashlight from her side table, and brought it under her covers. The light would always keep them away from her.

1:00. The air chilled even more, causing goosebumps to appear on her scratched skin. Her breath appeared in front of her, and shivers ran down her back. She could feel the first one coming. It didn't take much—she could sense their presence. Feeling them was like having a thousand knives stabbed into your body, all at the same time. The pain she felt inside as unbearable. 

1:01. The first one came. She didn't recognize this one…it was smaller, as if it was young. Her stomach ached for this one…it was so tiny. Only a child. What was this child doing, visiting her? She couldn't help but feel horrible. None the less, she retreated under blankets and turned on her flashlight, knowing that it would leave her alone.

1:02. The figure hadn't left. She was confused…her light was on, shouldn't it be leaving? She began to panic. What if it didn't leave? What if it started to hurt her? She thought again. She didn't think this one would hurt her. It was just a little child…it probably couldn't do much damage to her, unlike the others that were full grown. 

She decided to look at this one. See if it was really one of them. 

She slowly came out from under her red covers. She kept the baseball bat in her hand, just in case. It took a minute, but her eyes finally became adjusted to the dark room. She could see the outline of it. It was small…_very_ small, and thin. Quite thin. By the looks of the way it was build, she could tell it was a female. It seemed harmless.

"Ginny?"

She gasped. Never had they tried to talk to her before. It was a sweet voice, small, scared, but not harmful. She released the bat from her hand, and brought up the courage to speak back.

"Why are you here?"

The thing started to cry. Her heart melted…it was so little, afraid…she had to do something. But what could she do? She was only a girl. She couldn't do anything for them.

"I need your help," it replied, wiping away it's own tears.

She didn't know what to say. Help? If all they wanted was help, then why did they hurt her?

"What?"

"I need your help." It walked closer to her, but she didn't back away. "My name is Anna."


End file.
